


Space is just a word made up by someone who's afraid to get too close.

by orphan_account



Category: Real Person Fiction, Shadowhunters (TV) RPF
Genre: Boys Kissing, Drinking, I'm Sorry, I'm shit with tags, Kissing, M/M, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings, it's just a scene of them making out really, this doesn't even have a plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-08
Updated: 2016-05-08
Packaged: 2018-06-07 04:10:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6784612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The day they met, Harry would have never thought he could be sitting on the cold, tiled floor of his kitchen with a drunk Matthew beside him a few months later.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Space is just a word made up by someone who's afraid to get too close.

**Author's Note:**

> ok so it's been months since the last time i posted something, i think it's been almost a year now, and this probably sucks, but i had this idea stuck in my head and i needed to write it down  
> i don't even know if someone's going to read this bc there's like 1 fic of this ship but whatever
> 
> english isn't my first language and it isn't beta'd so i'm sorry for the mistakes  
> enjoy!

Harry remembers the first time he saw Matt.

 

He remembers being in the lobby of their hotel in Toronto, sitting on a couch with part of the cast, laughing at a dumb joke Dom (or maybe it was Alberto) had just told him. He had just met these guys, and everything felt so right. They'd all connected so quickly, and he just wished he would get along that well with the members they hadn't met yet.

 

When the hotel's door swung open and Matt walked in, all tangled black hair and long legs and firm lips -- something cold went down Harry's spine, something that screamed curiosity and danger at the same time. And he thought, this is it, he's the guy who's going to ruin the mood.

 

That day, he would have never thought he would be sitting on the cold tiled floor of his kitchen with a drunk Matthew beside him a few months later. Not even when Matt moves closer, an arm stretched out, hand open and welcoming for Harry to take it and shake it, the firm line of his lip turned into a crooked smile that makes the warning of danger drown in the curiosity.

 

The loud music in the living room sounds muffled between the walls of the kitchen; but it's still there, a constant reminder that Harry should get up and attend to the guests of his birthday party. But there's so much alcohol running through his veins right now he's sure he'll trip if he tries to stand up. 

 

Also, Matt's leg is pressed against his, and their arms rub every time one of them lifts his can of beer to his lips to take a sip, and Harry doesn't really feel like moving and losing this warm feeling in his belly if he loses the contact. 

 

“You know,” Matt mumbles, dragging the words out, his head resting against the cupboard, “when I first met you, I thought you hated me.” His eyes are half-closed, and he shuts them completely when he lets out a chirpy giggle, as if he hasn't heard anything more ridiculous than what he just said. 

 

Harry laughs, too, because he knows it isn't as ridiculous as Matt thinks. He remembers that prick he felt when they first saw each other, and the weeks following that day where he tried to ignore Matt, not knowing if it was because he didn't like him or because he felt too drawn to him, too interested, and it had kind of scared him. 

 

He thinks about telling Matt, now that they are both friends, now that they are closer than Harry thought they would ever be able to be. He thinks maybe he should tell him about the nervousness, the curiosity, the sweaty palms and the racing heart every time they were too close those first weeks. And how it carried on until now, how he doesn't want to move, afraid he'll feel cold if their skin stops touching.

 

He wants to ask if Matt felt it, back then. If he still feels it now, too.

 

But he isn't brave enough, not even when they're alone and surrounded by this drunk atmosphere. So he presses his smile against the edge of the can and swallows his words with his beer. 

 

“I liked you the best,” Matt says, turning his head toward Harry, looking at him between his eyelashes. “Out of all the members of the cast, I mean. You have so much experience, you've done all these great things, and you've met all these cool people. You were--” he takes another sip of his beer and frowns, trying to find the right word, “interesting.”

 

Harry watches him with his mouth half-open, tries to ignore the warm feeling in his stomach going up into his chest at the thought of Matt being drawn to him as much as he's been drawn to Matt.

 

Matt moves his head lazily, looks up at the ceiling before closing his eyes again. His lips are shiny with beer, and he licks them slowly with the tip of his tongue. Harry presses his own lips together to stop himself from moaning. 

 

"I'm not interesting anymore?” he asks, his voice suddenly hoarse.

 

Matt's lips curl up into one of those crooked smiles that make Harry's hands sweat. He swallows, and Harry follows the movement of his Adam's apple with his eyes, feels the sudden need to lean closer and kiss it, bite the skin there.

 

He takes another sip of his beer.

 

When Matt opens his mouth to answer, someone screams through the closed door -- something about a broken lamp, or broken glass, Harry is too distracted to catch all the words. 

 

He grunts and peels himself from Matt's side, he pushes himself up with one arm. But Matt grabs him before he can get up, pulls him down again, tugging at his arm clumsily.

 

Harry trips and falls on top of Matt, their legs entangled, his cheek pressed against Matt's shoulder, what was left of his beer soaking their clothes.

 

“You bastard,” he mutters, trying to sound upset, but the seriousness gets lost in the giggle that escapes his lips when Matt starts laughing out loud.

 

Harry pulls away a little bit, just enough to look at Matt. He's still laughing, head back against the cupboard, his mouth open and wrinkles around his eyes. Harry wants to bite his skin again, bite his lips.

 

He thinks about taking another gulp to drown his thoughts, but his beer is all over the two of them now so he tries to get up one more time, put some security distance between them.

 

But again, Matt doesn't let him. He drapes one of his long arms over Harry's shoulder, he presses his open hand flat between Harry's shoulder blades, firm and warm.

 

“No. Don't go.” He isn't laughing anymore, even though there's a smile playing on the corners of his lips. “There are--” he says, and stops to drink one more time before tossing the can away. He curls his other arm around Harry's waist, “There are a few interesting things I'd like to learn about you.”

 

Harry's empty can falls onto the tiled floor when Matt crashes their lips together, his fingers pressing harder over Harry's skin.

 

It isn't the first time they've kissed -- Harry's lost count of how many times they've had to repeat the sequence of the Malec kiss on set -- but it feels like something completely new. There aren't cameras pointing at them, there aren't people looking at them expectantly, there aren't voices shouting how they should or shouldn't move.

 

There's just them and the muffled sound of music.

 

Harry doesn't stop himself from moaning this time. He cups Matt's face with his hands and parts his lips, slipping his tongue inside Matt's mouth, pressing closer, closer, closer.

 

It's a rough kiss, fast and eager. It tastes like beer and Matt, and they press against each other so hard it's almost bruising. Harry realizes he isn't the only one who's been wanting this since the day they met.

 

He pulls back just enough to breathe, gasps into Matt's mouth, their lips brushing against each other but not quite kissing.

 

Harry runs one of his thumbs over Matt's swollen bottom lip, and Matt follows the touch with his tongue. Harry can feel his own heartbeat in his throat when he leans in to bite down. Matt arches his back, trying to get even closer, his ragged breathe hitting Harry's burning lips and the hand on Harry's waist slipping under his shirt. 

 

Matt growls when Harry pulls away one more time, his head lifts from the cupboard, trying to catch Harry's lips again, but Harry doesn't let him. Harry takes a minute just to look at Matt; his shiny red lips, his half-closed eyes, his dilated pupils, the hazel of his eyes almost completely gone, replaced by a dark black where Harry wouldn't mind drowning.

 

He looks just as wrecked as Harry feels.

 

Harry swallows hard and leans in again, stopping right before their lips meet. He tangles one of his hands in Matt's hair and pulls at it, makes him push his head back to expose the soft skin of his neck, attaches his lips to the skin that covers his Adam's apple. He runs his tongue over it before he bites down; it makes Matt gasp, his nails scratching Harry's back.

 

Suddenly it's too hot in the kitchen. Harry's clothes feel rough against his skin, and every part of his body that isn't touching Matt's itches. He keeps kissing Matt's neck, nips at his skin and moves one of his legs to press it between Matt's.

 

“Fuck,” Matt groans deep in his throat. Harry can feel it on his lips, and Matt's the one pulling at Harry's hair now, crushing their mouths together again, almost desperately.

 

There's another scream and a bang against the closed door of the kitchen, and Harry falls back onto the kitchen floor and away from Matt right before someone bursts in. 

 

“Harry, dude, Dom broke a window!” a girl says, her voice high and wrong, annoying after getting used to the muffled music and Matt's ragged breathing.

 

Harry stands up, he feels dizzy and everything is a little brighter on the edges. The girl pulls at his arm impatiently. He looks down at Matt before leaving the room.

 

Matt looks right back at him. He's blushing, a wide smile brightens up his face, a promise of something more later hidden in the happy wrinkles of his eyes.

 

Harry gets out of the kitchen, anticipation making his hands sweat. 

**Author's Note:**

> i hope you liked it! please tell me what you think about it. and you know, this is fiction, do not send this to the actors, etc.  
> thanks for reading x


End file.
